


Through Seasons and Centuries

by redmorningstar



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Background Relationships, Big Bang Challenge, Emotional, F/M, Memories, Pining, Present Tense, Recovered Memories, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 20:47:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28534644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redmorningstar/pseuds/redmorningstar
Summary: The history books don’t tell her as much as she hopes. Oh, they tell her facts and figures, but it’s so impersonal that they don’tmeananything. His name was Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd; he was known as the Savior King; they ruled Fódlan together until their deaths. It doesn’t tell her what they were to one another; it doesn’t tell her how shefelt. And the movies are worse, filled to the brim with glorified action scenes and overblown love stories that make her cringe. None of it fits, perhaps because they focus so much on the spectacle that it detracts from the real moments she lived. Her memories aren’t full of dramatic speeches or glorious battles or gazing off into the distance.Byleth remembers the rain.-Byleth leaves her job and life in the city behind to move to Garreg Mach without really knowing why. As she starts to explore this sleepy town halfway across the continent, she begins to remember parts of her past life and reconnect with the reincarnations of the people she once knew. However, the love of her life is nowhere to be found - not in her memories or among the people around her.Written for the FE3HAU Big Bang.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 26
Kudos: 127
Collections: The Three Houses AU Bang





	Through Seasons and Centuries

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has been on my mind for a long time, and participating in this Big Bang was my excuse to finally finish it. I've never participated in a Big Bang event before; fortunately, it was a lot more painless than I expected.
> 
> My inspirations for this story were summer and nostalgic feelings. Honestly, this fic feels like my summer anime feature. Best read with a background soundtrack of cicadas chirping. 😆
> 
> A huge thank you to my collab partner [@naz_artz](https://twitter.com/naz_artz) for the wonderful cover art.
> 
> Note: There is background Sylvain/Felix and Seteth/Manuela. Title inspired from the song The Garden of Everything by Maaya Sakamoto feat. Steve Conte.

On the eve of her twenty-fifth birthday, Byleth moves to a sleepy town halfway across the continent. Byleth can't say why she decides to do this because she hardly knows herself. She's never been prone to fits of whim or fancy; she's never even taken a proper vacation until now. Most of her friends would say she’s too grounded and too much of a realist to be carried away by far-off fantasies and yet… here she was.

The town is called Garreg Mach, named for the sprawling stone monastery that sits above it on a hill. Byleth had heard of the place through some documentary on television and it had snagged in her brain ever since. It had become her favourite daydream: picturing the town like a folded postcard in her pocket when her mind was idle. She’s never lived anywhere but the big city with lights that never go out and people squashed in close enough to be suffocating; out here there’s more space than she knows what to do with and everything moves a beat slower, almost like time itself is different here. She thought it would be quiet, except it’s anything but: cicadas chirp constantly in spring and every morning the birds singing their little hearts out beyond her bedroom window. And the _stars;_ she can’t remember a time when she saw them all so clearly, a dizzying blanket of constellations and planets that takes her breath away.

Byleth buys a cottage that is small and dusty and hasn’t seen a renovation in decades. _A fixer-upper_ , says the realtor with an unnaturally bright smile, but that hadn’t stopped Byleth from signing on the dotted line. The day she gets the keys, she arms herself with a bucket and mop and gets to _work_. Keeping busy is almost a way to avoid the inevitable panic from sinking in. She’s moved away from the only stability and life she has ever known and now she’s just… alone and making friends has never been her strength, always too distant and awkward to be any good at connecting deep with others.

Her neighbours are a father and daughter with hair green like grass, not dissimilar to her own. Byleth has spied them in passing only, but hasn’t yet summed up the courage to introduce herself. She seizes the opportunity one Sunday afternoon when she catches the girl working alone in the front garden, a beautifully kept lawn with garden beds filled with all kinds of flowers and neat bushes of forget-me-nots at the fenceline.

“Hello,” Byleth says, poking her head over the front gate. Her smile feels rusty and it probably shows in the awkward lift of her face.

“Yes?” The girl stands up, squinting at her from under the wide brim of her sunhat, until recognition dawns. “Oh!” She says, dropping her spade in shock. She brings a gloved hand to cover her mouth until all Byleth can see are her sea-green eyes wide with surprise. It seems like an overreaction to Byleth, but she can’t be sure because there’s always the possibility she has committed some social faux pas. She tries not to fiddle with the hem of her well worn T-shirt self-consciously.

“Um,” she responds elegantly, “I’m Byleth Eisner. I just moved next door?” The girl blinks a few more times very rapidly and Byleth begins to wonder if she has broken her somehow. Then, as quickly as it came, the shock melts away into such an expression of sheer delight that Byleth is taken aback by it.

“Of course you are!” The girl exclaims, quite nonsensically. Byleth can see her almost bouncing on the balls of her feet in excitement. “It is so very good to meet you, Byleth Eisner,” she goes on, “my name is Flayn.” She waits for a response, the look on her face rather expectant.

“Nice to meet you, too,” Byleth says, feeling strangely nervous. She doesn’t know what she is _meant_ to say, but the response doesn’t appear to disappoint the girl.

“It’s such an unexpected delight to see you like this. As my neighbour! My goodness, what are the odds?” Flayn says with a tinkling laugh.

“I… suppose?” Byleth finds herself charmed by this girl despite the oddity of the conversation.

“Ah! Where are my manners?” Flayn quickly ungloves her hands before wiping them on her soil-stained smock. “It would be lovely to get to know you, Byleth. Won’t you come inside for a cup of tea? We have biscuits and cake, too!” Byleth isn’t sure what she has done to deserve such earnest anticipation. She’s not the type who people immediately find an affinity for so this instant friendliness is unexpected, to say the least. Even so, she finds herself accepting and quickly being ushered into her neighbours’ living room.

The decor is an eclectic mix of old and new: an ancient map sits framed on the wall, next to a bookshelf full of thick tomes, next to a modest flat-screen television. And when she looks at her host, she gets the same feeling: Flayn’s clothes are fashionable, a light brown plaid pinafore over a black shirt with puffed sleeves, only it’s like she’s stepped out from a different century. Vintage, Byleth supposes. And yet she has the strangest sense of déjà vu sitting across the table from Flayn. When the tea is ready, Flayn pours her a fragrant cup of chamomile and holds it out with a winsome smile. Byleth takes the cup from her, their hands brushing ever so slightly, and the feeling of déjà vu blooms into something else entirely.

Flayn. Bubbly, kind, and yet lonely somehow. Both older and younger than her years. Byleth remembers her bright smile when she joined her class; she remembers her relief at finding Flayn, bruised but _alive,_ after she had been abducted; she remembers a kind voice saying to her, _“can you make that expression again?”_

Byleth gasps and the cup falls to the table, spilt tea soaking the tablecloth and running off the side. Flayn quickly jumps into action, dabbing at the liquid with a dishcloth to contain the mess while Byleth struggles to make sense of the feeling in her chest. “I… I _know_ you,” she says at last with wonder in her voice. Flayn freezes before looking up at Byleth, tentative hope on her sweet face. “Flayn,” she says and crosses the short distance between them.

“Oh, Professor,” Flayn cries, and their arms are around one another, tears on both their cheeks as they talk over one another, barely coherent, but simply overcome with joy and amazement. That’s how Seteth finds them later, both teary but laughing despite it.

"Flayn?" He calls out, uncertainly.

"In here, Father! There's an old friend whom you would be delighted to see." When Byleth sees him, the affection in Seteth's eyes feels as familiar as an old friend.

"Byleth," he says, warmly, "you've returned to us at last." Byleth swipes uselessly at the tears on her cheeks and gives him a watery smile.

Seteth. Serious in demeanour, but behind that lay a warm heart and a dry sense of humour. She remembers how he did not trust her when they first met, but slowly their relationship had become one of mutual respect and dear friendship.

"Yes," Byleth murmurs, "I'm home."

She stays for dinner at their behest. There’s so much to catch up on. She doesn't remember much of the past, (in fact, there is more missing than not) but talking with the two of them over a delicious meal seems to help. It’s something she hadn’t realised she had been missing until now, nostalgic and exciting at the same time; she can’t even remember the last time she felt that way.

“So you both remember everything?” Byleth asks, burning with curiosity.

“Yes, but that is simply because we never left. We've been here all this time,” Seteth tells her.

“So… you’re immortal?” Seteth inclines his head.

“Not quite. We can be wounded and hurt. We can be killed. But age, at least, can’t be our downfall.” Byleth sips at her wine, attempting to digest that particular piece of information.

“But we’re like kin. Why was it so different for me?” She notices that they both hesitate, a quick shared glance between them conveying a meaning she can’t catch.

“Because when the time came, you chose to grow old in the mortal way,” Flayn says, gently.

"Reincarnation," Seteth says, matter-of-factly. “You died one thousand years ago, and now your soul has been reborn.” It sounds wild, like something from a fairytale, and yet something in her knows it’s true. It’s why she was drawn here, to Garreg Mach, of all places. Her soul knew even before she did that this place was _home_.

“I want to know it all. Tell me everything,” Byleth implores, but Seteth shakes his head.

“That would not be wise,” he says firmly.

“Why not?” If she sounds plaintive, it’s only because she feels like she is being denied the full story.

“I fear a partial understanding would do more harm than good. And even more importantly, your story is your own. I am not certain it would do you any benefit to hear an outsiders’ account of it.” Flayn reaches out and squeezes her hand in a warm grip.

“Do not fret, Professor. As you learn more, we shall be here for you,” Flayn assures her. Byleth nods reluctantly, though she does see their point.

“Have you met any others?” She asks curiously. Flayn glances at her father with a sly look while he pointedly looks elsewhere.

“Just one,” she confides, “but Father hasn’t even _talked_ to her yet. He said he’s considering it, but it’s been months-”

“You are exaggerating-”

“-and I know he’s only hesitating because he was half in love with her back in the day-”

“It’s not like before-”

“Father, it is about time you considered remarrying, honestly-”

“That’s quite enough, Flayn,” Seteth says, firmly, and Flayn sets her mouth in a mulish pout, but doesn’t say anything further. Watching the two of them argue over their empty plates fills Byleth with a warm, cosy feeling. When she goes back to her cottage later that evening, with a container of leftovers that was forcibly pressed into her hands, the warmth lingers. She doesn’t feel quite so alone anymore.

-

Byleth starts to dream. She never did before, but now her nights are full of images and people and emotions: the weight of a sword in her hands, the feeling of crying for the first time, the colour blue. They fade quickly in the light of day so she's taken to writing them down the moment she wakes, the words spilling out messily on the page as she grasps at pieces of truth and vagaries with equal hunger. She can’t make sense of it all yet, hardly knows where to start, but she keeps hoping that one day the image will come into focus and show her something _real_.

-

The two at the coffee shop recognise Byleth before she even realises who they are. When she steps up to the counter to order, the red-haired man at the till just stares and stares at her. He stands frozen for a long minute, throat working but no words coming out, until eventually the dark-haired barista turns from the espresso machine with a scowl, and hisses impatiently, “Sylvain, _what the hell_.” Byleth blinks.

Sylvain. Cheeky, charming, and loyal to the end. She remembers his overt flirtations, the smile that never quite reached his eyes, the only time his gaze really softened was when he was looking at…

“Felix,” she utters, and the barista finally looks at her properly, his scowl replaced by a look of surprise.

Felix. Abrupt, taciturn, but unfailingly honest. One of the best swordsmen she had ever known. She could always entrust her back to him, had done so countless times in the war. He was only at his most curt when it came to... Her memory pauses.

There is a moment where the three of them just stare at each other before Byleth becomes aware of the uncomfortable queue forming behind her. It’s the morning rush and not the time and place for this type of heavy conversation, so they ask her to come back at closing. She does because it’s _Felix and Sylvain_ and somehow it doesn’t surprise her that they are together in this life; some things are meant to be, she thinks.

Byleth returns later when the cafe is empty and quiet and the sunset is slanting in from the windows. Her mind takes a moment to register their casual clothes. There are no armours or uniforms here, just blue jeans and Sylvain in an oversized maroon pullover that drapes over his hands, and Felix wearing a white tee and bomber jacket in a familiar shade of teal. They haven’t spoken anything more than a handful of words and yet Byleth feels completely at ease, sitting together with her hands curled around the cup of coffee Felix made for her when she arrived. Sylvain is looking at her intently over his cup, his eyes sparkling with curiosity.

“Well, Professor, it’s been more than a lifetime,” he says emphatically. He gives her a lopsided grin. “You’re even more beautiful than I remember.” Felix kicks him under the table, making the other man groan. She hides her smile under the rim of her cup.

“Call me Byleth, please. I’m not a professor this time.” The way they speak to her with tacit respect and regard makes her feel embarrassed somehow, especially when she’s done nothing in this life to deserve it.

“I have to ask — how did you find us?” Sylvain asks with a raised eyebrow. Byleth shrugs.

“I didn’t. It was an accident.”

“Huh.” Felix folds his arms over his chest, his brown eyes assessing. “So what do you remember?”

“Bits and pieces. It’s still hazy, mostly. I remember the monastery at night. Our first mock battle, but only a few faces. Fewer names.” Byleth stirs her coffee absently, more to do something with her hands than anything else. “I only started remembering anything at all when I met Flayn and Seteth again.”

“ _Wow_ , they’re here too?” Sylvain interjects. Byleth nods. “Aw, how is our cute little Flayn doing?”

“Seteth will still end you for even trying it, Sylvain,” she says, surprising herself with how automatically the rebuke comes to her lips. Felix laughs while the other man looks as sullen as a kicked puppy. She finds out from the two of them that they have known about their past life since they were kids. They grew up next door to one another and-

“I’m stuck with this guy until I die,” Felix states, resigned.

“Hey, when you say it like that it sounds so…”

“Inconvenient? Exhausting? Burdensome?”

“Felix, why can’t you just admit how you really feel?” Sylvain objects. The two of them bicker, falling into familiar patterns that warm her, stirring memories of days spent in the training hall, sword in hand, while these two argued over trivial matters. Little has changed there, she thinks.

“What do _you_ remember?” She asks, thrilled to find others and to be learning more about their shared history.

"Mostly our childhood,” Felix says, “some parts of our academy days and the war, though it’s mostly centred around the times we were together.”

“Don’t forget the time when I heroically threw myself into the line of fire for you. That’s the best bit,” Sylvain comments proudly.

“That time I thought you were going to die was the _best_ bit?” Felix snaps.

“Yeah. You were so cute back then.” Felix shares a look with Byleth, almost as if to say, _do you see what I have to deal with?_ She just laughs. He gives her a considering look.

“We haven't run into anyone else until now. Wasn't certain that there was anyone to find. But since you're here, then the others must be around, too.”

“What makes you so certain?” Byleth asks. Sylvain is the one who responds.

"Because you're here,” he says with a warm smile. “In our past life, we all came back to the monastery because we promised you we would.” Felix nods in agreement. The thought makes Byleth feel warm; all her life she has thought of herself as nothing special and yet the people she’s met in the last few weeks all look at her like she’s _something else_.

“Speaking of, is _he_ with you? I’ve been curious about what the boar is like in this world.” At Byleth’s blank expression, a frown forms on Felix’s face. “He's not with you?”

“Who…?” As soon as the word leaves her mouth, Byleth feels a burst of longing so intense that she gasps from the surprise of it. She casts her mind back, grasping for the hint of a memory, but nothing comes. All she feels is… lonely in a way she can’t quantify and it’s made worse because now she realises that she shouldn’t be. “I don't remember,” Byleth says finally. She doesn’t realise she’s crying until the tears are falling from her eyes and splashing onto the table. She doesn’t know where they come from and can’t seem to stop them even so. Felix and Sylvain crowd closer to her, alarmed at her sudden emotion.

“It’s okay if you don’t remember it all right now,” Felix says immediately, his hand gripping her shoulder too tightly in an awkward attempt at comfort. “It’ll come. Even now we still remember something new every once in a while and we’ve known each other for years.” Sylvain puts his arm around her shoulders and tugs her into a half-hug.

“We'll find him. Together,” Sylvain promises. Byleth nods, letting their gentle assurances wash over the sudden ache in her chest, and hopes they are right.

-

The history books don’t tell her as much as she hopes. Oh, they tell her facts and figures, but it’s so impersonal that they don’t _mean_ anything. His name was Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd; he was known as the Savior King; they ruled Fódlan together until their deaths. It doesn’t tell her what they were to one another; it doesn’t tell her how she _felt_. And the movies are worse, filled to the brim with glorified action scenes and overblown love stories that make her cringe. None of it fits, perhaps because they focus so much on the spectacle that it detracts from the real moments she lived. Her memories aren’t full of dramatic speeches or glorious battles or gazing off into the distance.

Byleth remembers the rain.

-

The monastery on the hill is now a museum with hourly guided tours for tourists and student groups. The first time she goes she barely makes it through the dormitories as she finds each room alive with a whisper of a memory. She makes her way home after, feeling so overwhelmed and faint that she spends the next day in bed, too ill to move. After some not-so-gentle prodding from Flayn, she takes herself to the local doctor for a check-up.

Byleth sits in the doctor’s waiting room, feeling miserable and sorry for herself, when after an indeterminate length of time the nurse calls her name. “The doctor will see you now,” he says and gestures down the hall. Byleth follows as directed to the door where the nameplate reads “DR CASAGRANDA”. A beautiful woman looks up at her from her computer screen. She wears an expensive-looking white blouse and a navy pencil skirt fitted by an orange leather plait belt. Rose gold jewellery winks at her wrist and earlobes and Byleth thinks at once that her appearance is more akin to a movie star than a doctor working in a quiet regional town. Suddenly she is struck with an image of this woman standing in a high vaulted cathedral, her face upturned to the heavens as she sings songs of love and battle.

Manuela. Her fellow professor at the monastery, only so much more. They had been confidants, often talking about anything and everything over a pot of tea or a few drinks. She recalls with faint amusement that the subject of love came up very frequently.

“Have a seat, my dear. Now, what’s troubling you today?” Manuela asks now, her voice gentle and smooth as honey. Byleth finds it difficult to talk past the sudden lump in her throat. She wants to spill it all — her fears, her worries, her joys — and confide in her like she used to, but this Manuela is looking at her with professional concern and nothing deeper. Could it be that Byleth is the only one who remembers? The possibility makes her heart feel heavy like it might sink through her body all the way to her feet.

"Um,” she begins after too long a pause, “I've been in bed with a fever since yesterday, so my friend suggested I come to see you, Dr Casagranda.” Manuela peers at her face assessingly.

“You do seem rather run down. Okay, let me take a look at you.” There’s a gentle hand on her chin as Manuela brings up a thermometer and presses it to her forehead… then promptly drops it with a sharp intake of breath.

“Doctor?”

“Sorry, I- I don’t know what…” There’s a pause, then Manuela says, disbelief in her voice, “ _Professor?_ Is it really you?” Byleth breathes a sigh of relief.

“Manuela, I was scared you didn’t remember me-” She cuts herself off as Manuela’s arms come around her in a crushing hug. Byleth returns it just as fiercely.

“Oh my dear, how could I forget you? The moment we touched, it all came back in such a rush.” Manuela shakes her head, a smile on her face. “What have you been doing up until now? What do you remember? Oh, we have so much to catch up on,” she gushes.

“Yes, there’s so much I want to tell you, too. More than we have time for.”

“I know! Drinks after I get off from work?” Byleth can’t help her smile at that and almost agrees before she remembers how _insistent_ Flayn was that she attend here for treatment; something clicks and falls into place.

“How about dinner instead? Flayn and Seteth are here, too. We could catch up, all four of us,” Byleth suggests, and watches for Manuela’s reaction carefully. The other woman blinks, looking a little stunned.

“Flayn and… Seteth?” Manuela repeats, flustered. “Oh, how are those two? Flayn was always such a sweet girl and Seteth, well… he must have remarried by now, right?” She asks hesitantly. Byleth pretends to think it over for a moment.

“No, I think he's still single,” she says finally, and the look of relief on Manuela’s face is extremely telling.

“Dinner sounds… good, _yes_ , let’s do that. But Goddess, I don’t have a thing to wear… and you’ll stop me if I make a fool of myself tonight, won’t you?” Byleth smiles.

“Of course, what are friends for?”

Later that evening, Manuela shifts nervously at Byleth’s side as she knocks at the door to Flayn and Seteth’s home. When the door opens, Seteth is there — white dress shirt and charcoal slacks both neatly-pressed and his expression grave as usual. That is until he sees Manuela, and his eyes soften minutely with something fond. Byleth sees the moment the nervousness vanishes from Manuela; she steps forward, sashaying her hips a bit until she’s standing a bit closer than friends normally would.

“Hello, Seteth,” she says, warm and confident, before leaning in to place a lingering kiss on his cheek in a greeting. Then she passes the bottle of wine she had brought as a gift into his hands and brushes past him into the house.

“Hello, Manuela,” he says softly at her retreating back, a wry smile on his face. He quickly schools his expression into seriousness once more when he notices Byleth is still standing there, watching it all unfold with interest. It’s _adorable_. “Byleth, won’t you come in?”

The evening goes smoothly, conversation and laughter coming easily in equal measure as they talk late into the night, Seteth and Manuela dancing around each other while Flayn and Byleth exchange knowing looks. They part with a promise to do this again, yes, _soon_. Her favourite part might be after they leave and Manuela draws her close with an arm around her shoulders and says, conspiratorially, “I need your opinion on something. Got time for a nightcap?” Byleth smiles.

“For you, Manuela, always.”

-

Sylvain sends her a YouTube video titled: "Unicorn Birthday Cake w/ Mercie!! ♥️" The moment she sees the woman on the screen, with her golden hair and gentle smile, Byleth feels a burst of warmth in her chest.

Mercedes. Warm, kind, and lovely. She remembers a sweet voice asking her to take it easy, freshly baked cookies to cheer her up, a hug when she needed it most.

Byleth spends an hour trying to compose a DM to her that doesn't come off as weird, awkward, or creepy. She isn't sure she succeeds, but sends the message off anyway and hopes for the best. Some memory must trigger for Mercedes too (she can’t imagine it was her eloquence that did it) because she receives a reply not long after.

Of course she's in Garreg Mach, and _of_ _course_ she would love to meet up. Byleth, nerves thrumming excitement, responds straight away. They set a time for the next day and she suggests Felix and Sylvain’s cafe, so that if it all goes horribly wrong, then she’ll have moral support, at least.

_I’ve always wanted to try that place! Mind if I bring a friend along?_

When they finally meet up, Mercedes shows up with Annette in tow. Byleth has never much been interested in clothes before, but her friends make for such a stylish pair that she wonders if she should; Mercedes looks like a model in her knee-length cashmere cardigan and dark blue velvet dress that puffs out below a cinched waist, while Annette is pretty as a picture in soft green beret and cropped cognac leather jacket over a cream linen dress. By contrast, her own wardrobe is filled with shades of black and grey, though she may still have her pink scarf lying around somewhere. "Professor!" Mercedes gushes when she sees her and yes, her hugs are as warm and comforting as she remembers.

"Byleth, please," Byleth says with some embarrassment. When Mercedes lets her go, Annette is quick to take her place with an enthusiastic hug.

Annette. Always shining, always striving. Byleth remembers her little songs and her unbreakable cheer, which had brought a smile to her face even in the darkest of times.

“It’s so good to see you!” When Annette pulls back, she shakes her head with a worried expression. “Ah, I’m not sure I’ll be able to call you by name, I’m sorry, Professor!” Byleth smiles, because it’s so typically _Annette_ that she can’t help herself.

"You two already know each other?" She asks, still amazed about how connected the Blue Lions are even though the circumstances of this life are entirely different.

"We met in uni!" Annette chirps.

"Yes, we were lab partners, then roommates, and now we've known each for, what, three years?” Mercedes asks.

“Four, Mercie!” Annette responds with a pout.

“You know I don’t have a head for dates like you do, Annie.”

“Are you on YouTube, too, Annette?” Byleth asks, curiously. She can imagine her infectious cheer easily garnering her many fans, but Annette is quick to shake her head.

“Oh, no, no, _no_. I’m just your average overworked and stressed-out PhD student,” she says with a laugh. “I’m lucky I have Mercie’s cookies to keep me going all hours. That and caffeine, of course. Speaking of, I’ve heard the coffee here is amazing but I’ve never managed to escape my lab to try it.”

“Yes, not to mention that crepe cake in the window which just looks delicious. Oh, and the brownies and tarts, too! Shall we share?” Mercedes asks cheerfully.

“Mind if we interrupt to take your orders, lovely ladies?” Felix and Sylvain emerge from the cafe and Byleth bites her lip as she watches the reaction of the two women.

“Sylvain! And _Felix_!?” Annette gasps, almost toppling the table when she stands up too fast. Sylvain winks at them. The two women rush over with palpable excitement.

“Oof,” he says as they hug him tightly. “Women throwing themselves at me? Quick Felix, take a photo otherwise no one will ever believe it.”

“I’m not enabling you,” Felix says dryly. He stands back and holds a hand up in a brief wave. “Hey,” he says nonchalantly. Annette turns on Felix with intent.

“Don’t think you are getting away without hugging us, mister,” she says firmly.

“That’s right! In fact, I don’t think just one hug is going to cut it,” Mercedes chimes in.

“I didn’t do hugs then and I don’t do hugs now,” he scoffs, but then Sylvain is behind him, pinning his arms in place, leaving him defenceless as Annette and Mercedes close in. It’s chaotic and raucous and Byleth _laughs_ , which shocks the four of them into stillness, but she can’t help it. The joy in front of her is so bright and intense; laughing has never felt so easy.

-

Without a job to occupy her, Byleth has too much time on her hands. The rows of blooming flowers next door put her dirt and weed-choked front lawn to shame so she decides she wants to try her hand at growing things. She has no real experience with it (she used to live in an apartment twenty floors up with a concrete balcony, after all) so Byleth gets on her bike and rides to the plant nursery she’s heard about on the edge of town. The ride through Garreg Mach is a beautiful one, passing old buildings and tree-lined streets until they become sparse. When the sign for the plant nursery comes into view, Byleth stops to wipe the sweat from her forehead and take a swig from her water bottle before going in.

The selection of plants is nothing short of overwhelming. Byleth wanders the rows of starts and shrubs, looking vainly for someone who might be able to help her. Eventually, she finds a veritable giant of a man, tall and powerfully built, who appears to be moving an arrangement of young shrubs into a shady spot. He wears a light blue cap against the midday sun, heavy steel-tipped boots, and grey workman’s coveralls that are dusted with soil.

“Dedue,” she whispers, half absently. His sharp hearing catches her utterance and he turns, surprise clear on his face.

“It’s you, Professor,” he says, and a look of recognition settles in his expression. His face does not bear the scars it did in the past, though she can imagine the placement of them very clearly.

Dedue. Steadfast, gentle, reliable. He stood at their side all their lives, a pillar of love and support. Together, they had brought reconciliation and reform to their fractured country; it had been their life’s work.

Byleth can’t help herself. She closes the distance between them and hugs him tight; he smells of loam and soil and green things. His arms come around her in response, enveloping her in warmth. “Sorry,” she says when she pulls away at last, wiping surreptitiously at her watering eyes. Dedue shakes his head.

“Don’t be sorry. It’s good to meet you again.” Byleth laughs wetly.

“You remember me?” Dedue nods.

“Strangely, you were in my dreams last night. And now here you are.” Dedue hesitates. “Is His Highness-” Byleth shakes her head sadly.

“No. I wish he was. I was hoping you knew.” Dedue’s hand rests on her shoulder, a weight that grounds her.

“His Highness can’t be far away. If there’s one thing I remember it's how much he hated being apart from you,” he says sincerely.

“How can you know for sure?” Byleth feels the tears coming on again, but she pushes them down. She can’t cry every time she tries to think of him. _‘Eventually, your tears will dry up,’_ she thinks to herself, then wonders where she has heard that before.

“I don’t. But I believe we will meet again,” he tells her and she feels her heart calm a little at his quiet certainty. The silence between them rests, a comfortable balm, and she remembers how much could be communicated between them without words. His hand drops from her shoulder but the kindness in his voice lingers. “Did you come here to look at the plants?” Byleth nods.

“Yes, I want to grow things. Flowers, vegetables — I’m a beginner so I’ll go with whatever you recommend.”

“Let’s pick some out together and I can deliver the plants to your house after I finish for the day. Then we could talk if you’d like.” His smile is small, but it fills her heart; she returns it.

“I would like that very much.”

-

Byleth steels her nerves and returns to the monastery again. It’s far easier the second time. It still takes her weeks to get through from one end to the other, but she manages. One day, she spends the whole day traversing the length of the Knights’ Hall, searching for _something,_ but nothing comes. Most visits she finds herself in the cathedral, sitting in the pews and listening to the voices around her hushed in reverence. When the opportunity presents itself, Byleth takes a job there. It’s nothing complicated — selling tickets and manning the admin desk — and nothing at all to do with her previous career, but it allows her free entry, leave to roam around the grounds, _and_ she can linger in the restricted areas after hours.

Byleth has taken to trusting her sense of intuition: sometimes it’s that feeling of déjà vu, other times it’s more vague than that. She’s on her way to work when she notices the young man sitting next to her at the bus stop. He looks like a student dressed in a soft blue hoodie, brown chinos with rolled up cuffs, and high-top sneakers, but she notices his hands are weathered, like he’s used to working with them. His face is buried in a dog-eared novel, the spine cracked and well-loved. She hasn’t even seen his face yet, but his head of silvery hair keeps catching her eye. It takes her a few minutes to work up the courage to approach, not knowing what to say exactly because she’s never been good at striking up conversations with strangers.

“Um, hi.” Byleth clears her throat when it cracks over the word. The man doesn’t even look up, which makes her feel a bit mortified. She’s tempted to leave it, but she forces herself to say again, this time louder: “ _Hi_.” It sounds almost aggressive, which is not what she was aiming for at all, but it does the trick because the man startles and whips his head around to look at her. Green eyes blink at her from behind large metal-framed glasses before a slim hand reaches up to pull out an earbud; she hadn’t noticed it, too preoccupied with her thoughts.

“Sorry?” He sounds confused. There’s no spark of recognition for either of them it seems. Byleth deflates; she’s made a fool of herself for nothing.

“Sorry, I, um, thought you were someone else,” she says, lamely. The man looks sceptical, which is fair considering. Then she notices the book he’s reading. “Is that Loog and the Maiden of Winds?”

“You’ve read it?” He asks, the excitement coming alive in his eyes. She nods with a smile. It was one of the first books she read when she moved here, more fantastical than historical, but she had enjoyed it nonetheless.

“I’m a fan. I’ve read a lot of stories from the early days of the Kingdom of Faerghus,” she tells him. “I’m Byleth, by the way.”

“Your name is Byleth? Like the ancient hero?” He chuckles. “My parents were historical buffs, too. It’s why they named me Ashe, I think.” Byleth hesitates; it’s too much of a coincidence for her to look past it. In for a penny, in for a pound. She draws a breath and holds out her hand.

“Nice to meet you, Ashe.”

“Oh! Uh, likewise.” He takes her hand.

Ashe. Gentle, sparkling bright, and always looking to help in any way he could. He had been full of hope, even in the worst and trying of times, his kindness a strength she had admired.

“Professor, you’re _here,_ ” Ashe exclaims, eyes wide with surprise and joyful recognition. “I can’t believe I didn’t recognise you.”

“Ashe, I’m so happy to see you again. Goddess, you don’t know how much.” The handshake becomes a tight squeezing hug, a sudden flood of warmth and affection that wasn’t there a minute ago. She’s noticed that the emotions return more quickly than the memories themselves sometimes, almost as if the bonds between their hearts are stronger than even the mind can recall.

“Are there others?” He asks, his eyes alive with infectious excitement.

“We have a group chat,” she tells him cheerfully.

-

When she’s not working, Byleth likes to while away the time at the coffee shop. Drinking coffee used to be a way to keep pushing through the workday but now that she has time to appreciate the taste and aroma, she finds she likes it just as well as tea; it certainly helps that Felix makes a very good cup, better than all the city cafes she has ever visited. It makes her smile to think he’s honed his craft in this life just as much as before, swordplay traded for espresso.

It’s a slow Friday morning when a beautiful woman comes in; her blonde hair is braided up and pinned down severely, and she wears a black T-shirt and cargo pants beneath a large jacket emblazoned with the logo of the Garreg Mach Fire Department. Byleth is watching absently as Sylvain takes her order at the counter (an iced coffee and four pastries… not all for her, surely) when the realisation hits.

Ingrid. Focused and intelligent. Serious about everything she set her mind to, be it training, studying, or eating. She had been a brilliant knight, like the novels, only so much _more_ because she had truly lived it.

At first, she wonders why Felix and Sylvain never mentioned her because it’s obvious that Ingrid has been here before in the way she makes her order at the till like a regular. Sylvain is asking about her day and Ingrid is responding with a polite smile and they are talking to each other like they are strangers and it’s then that Byleth realises with a pang that they don’t _know_. Byleth stands up abruptly, her chair scraping loudly against the wooden floor in her haste, drawing the eye of both of them. She stands there gaping mutely for a long moment, her mind suddenly blank of all the words she could say, all the ways she could start a conversation and not make this unbearably stranger.

“Are you okay, Professor?” Ingrid asks and then looks surprised at herself when the title slips out.

“Ingrid,” she replies, her voice full of emotion, and the other woman’s confusion only grows before it is finally shattered by Sylvain’s joyful, whooping laughter. Ingrid turns back to the redhead and her eyes are so wide it’s like she’s finally seeing him properly for the first time.

“Goddess, _Sylvain?”_ She utters finally, astounded.

“Ingrid, you- how long have you been coming here?” He asks, incredulous. He jumps the counter in a smooth leap and sweeps Ingrid off her feet in a tight hug. “Felix, get your ass _out here_ ,” Sylvain calls. Felix comes running from the backroom, because of Sylvain’s call or the sound of Ingrid’s voice, it’s hard to say. He does a double-take when he sees Sylvain with Ingrid in his arms as if finally reconciling the person in front of him with the woman from his memories. Ingrid reaches for him and he goes to her without a word and distantly, Byleth wonders if the regulars are getting used to this sort of energetic display of hugging and tearful exclamations. She remembers now how close the four of them had been from the time they were children; seeing them reunited once more, it’s _almost_ perfect. She can nearly picture him standing there, too, a broad figure beside Ingrid and Felix sharing in their joy because _“happiness can be so fleeting, after all”._ Byleth almost chokes on the painful longing that catches in her throat, but she quickly ducks her head and breathes until the feeling recedes to the background once more. When she approaches the three of them her smile is shaky, but genuine. Ingrid turns to her with a grin, pulls her into a hug, and _squeezes_.

“When I saw you, it seemed so natural to call you Professor, though I had no idea why,” Ingrid says.

“You were talking to Sylvain so politely… it took me a while to realise it was because none of you remembered,” Byleth says, amused.

“Goddess, I’ve been coming here for years and I didn’t remember at all.” Ingrid laughs like she still can’t quite believe it.

“You’re telling me,” Sylvain agrees fervently. Then his gaze grows serious, which is a sure sign that the next thing to come out of his mouth will be anything but. “Now that we know each other, I finally have the chance to ask: are _all_ those pastries for you?” Ingrid flushes and then punches Sylvain’s shoulder as an answer. “Ow.”

“Hit him again if you want, Ingrid,” Felix offers with a crooked smile. “I’m sure he’ll say something offensive in the next ten minutes, anyway.”

-

Spring melts into summer, the season passing in the blink of an eye as Byleth’s days are spent like this: Sunday nights are dinner with Flayn, Seteth, and Manuela, work during the week at the monastery, and when Friday night comes around, it’s drinks at the pub with the Blue Lions. Her days are full of light and love and it throws all her previous years into sharp relief. And yet she still can’t shake the feeling of missing _him_. She thinks about the figure at the edge of her memories, out of focus and out of view. She can't tell if it's her mind playing tricks on her, but she thinks she sees him sometimes in the crowds at Garreg Mach, or going for a run down around the park early in the morning, or any number of small, trivial things, there and then gone again. Everyone she has spoken to only remembers fragments, but the pieces don't make a whole.

“Sometimes when I try to think about him, it pisses me off,” Felix says. “All I know is that when I look at you, I think about him too.”

“I was always trying to get him to lighten up, you know? And set him with girls, of course, though he did manage to marry you, Professor, without my help at all," Sylvain notes slyly.

“We used to sew together,” says Mercedes with a smile, “and he kept breaking my needles and apologising.”

“Yes, he was strong, wasn’t he? I remember sparring with him and losing a lot,” Ingrid says, not embarrassed at all, but proud.

“Even though I was a commoner, he treated me the same as everyone else. I’ll never forget how kind he was to me," Ashe says with a fond look.

“He knew my dad. We used to talk about him a lot. He was like my big brother… but also, you know, the _king_ ," Annette surmises with a thoughtful look.

“We were like family. He saved my life and the lives of my people,” Dedue shares quietly, “I’ll always honour him for that, even now.”

And Byleth, who should remember the most about him, knows barely anything at all. She fears she'll never remember: the sound of his voice, the curve of his face, the warmth of his love. Or worse, that when they do finally meet, they won’t know each other at all; they’ll simply pass each other by like strangers, pulled away by the tides of fate, never to meet again.

-

The place is dark. Byleth sees… nothing. No, that’s wrong. There is a throne made of stone, clear even in the darkness. She is alone, until she isn’t. Green hair and green eyes set in a delicate face. She sits on the throne, just a slip of a girl, only _not at all_.

“Your name is Sothis... right?” Byleth asks hesitantly as the name rises somewhere from the depths of her mind.

“Wrong. _Our_ name is Sothis. Try to keep up.” Sothis’ green eyes are dancing with mirth, which softens the admonishment. Byleth’s mind races; if anyone would know, _she_ would.

“Please, I have so many questions-” She stops when Sothis raises a finger to her lips, an impish look on her face.

“Hush, dear one. As always, you worry too much.” She walks over to Byleth and touches a gentle hand to her hair, a comforting caress. “Look closely. Pay attention. The answer is right there in front of you.”

Before Byleth can respond, her eyes open, heart racing like she’s run a mile. The morning light filters through the blind. She grabs her journal, flipping hurriedly to a blank page and records everything she can before the dream fades from her mind. When she reads back on her writing, there is disappointingly little, but Sothis’ message is there, underlined thrice for emphasis: _Look closely. Pay attention._

-

Today she’s doing the rounds before closing, making sure no visitors are lingering as the museum shuts up for the night, when she notices the door to the Goddess Tower is slightly ajar. Byleth frowns. The Goddess Tower is closed to visitors except for once a year. Of course, this doesn’t stop her from sneaking away every spare moment to linger there, but that’s different, she’s _allowed_.

Byleth climbs the stairs, her annoyance rising with every step because it bothers her more than is rational for someone else to be her place. She hopes fiercely that it’s not a vandal or worse, some couple canoodling somewhere they shouldn’t be. When she reaches the top of the stairs, she expects some teenage delinquent, not a grown man standing at the tower’s window, his head bowed as if deep in thought; he doesn’t seem to have noticed her approach.

“Sir, you can’t be here. This place is off-limits to the public,” she calls out. He turns around and she catches sight of him in the pale light: a kind face, a proud nose, and a soft mouth. Blond hair and very blue eyes. Handsome. Beautiful, even. Her heart beats a little faster despite herself.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude, miss-” The man stops speaking abruptly. When the silence draws on too long, Byleth takes a few steps forward to better make out his expression.

“How did you even get in here? The door was locked.”

“It wasn’t locked when I arrived.” Byleth frowns, but it doesn’t sound like a lie. Maybe someone forgot to lock it, maybe even her, though she’s never done such a thing before.

“What are you doing up here?” Byleth asks, hands on her hips, stern to cover the curiosity tugging at her against her better judgement. The man seems surprised by the question, his blue eyes wide as they meet hers.

“There’s a legend about this place. They say that wishes made in this tower will come true.” He pauses. “You probably already knew that, seeing as you work here.” Byleth shakes her head; she has never heard such a thing, not in her own reading or from others in the museum.

“So you came up here to make a wish?” She asks, sceptical as she examines him with a critical eye. His clothes are cleanly pressed, from his dark blue slacks to the crisp white shirt he wears. His shirt-sleeves are rolled up in allowance for the heat, revealing muscled forearms and an expensive-looking watch on his left wrist. He looks like he belongs in a boardroom, or on the cover of a fashion magazine; he certainly doesn’t look like the sort who wants for anything. He throws her a lopsided smile.

“That’s right,” he says, and there’s something lonely about the slant of his mouth that Byleth understands very well. She blinks and it’s gone again. “But then you appeared. Maybe that’s my answer.” It sounds like a line, but at the same time, it doesn’t. Byleth doesn’t know how to react. In the ensuing silence, the man’s smile begins to falter. “Sorry. I was trying to tease you. I’m not very good at it.” He does have the good grace to look embarrassed, at least.

“It didn’t sound like a joke,” she says at last, uncertainly. Byleth can’t tell if the feeling in her chest is discomfort or some other tension. There’s no flush of recognition or memories as there has been with the others, and yet she wonders about the easy rhythm they’ve fallen into, this push and pull that feels… There is a jumble of emotions swirling in her chest and she can't put them into words, can’t pull them apart. She feels like a radio that’s just out of tune; like a faded, worn photograph; like a song she can’t quite remember the words to. Thunder rumbles in the distance, interrupting her train of thought. The room fills with the smell of petrichor and warm earth as the rain begins to fall outside the tower’s window. The sound of the unexpected summer rainstorm comforts her and makes her heart feel strangely full all at once.

“Oh,” he says, quietly, and Byleth wonders if he feels the same. A hush falls between them as they watch the rainfall in silence. The words at the tip of her tongue dance just out of reach, but then she remembers that there are other ways to communicate, too. Maybe she’s about to make the world’s biggest fool of herself, but more foolish than that would be to let this moment pass and never know. Byleth fills herself with courage and takes a few steps to close the distance between them as his blue eyes watch her questioningly. Her hand reaches out, steady despite the trembling of her heart, and she rests it against the warm curve of his cheek. For a moment he looks surprised by the touch; even so, he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t pull away, doesn’t screw his face up in disgust. No, instead he moves with aching slowness and brings up one hand of his own to rest on hers, holding it in place as he leans into her touch, the look in his eyes settling into something tender.

"Your hands are so warm... Have they always been?” He asks finally, his voice soft and deep, and it feels _right_ , the words resonating deep inside her like the toll of a bell. It’s different from all the other times, not a conscious remembering, but a gentle awakening of knowledge that sits in her bones rather than in her memories. Or whatever is deeper than that — her soul, perhaps.

“It’s you, isn’t it, Dimitri?” She asks in an unsteady voice.

“Byleth,” he breathes, like he has been waiting a lifetime to say it. She isn’t sure which of them moves first, but when their mouths meet it doesn't feel like a first kiss. It feels like _welcome home_ and _I missed you_. When they part, he says very softly, “I’ve wanted to do that since the first moment I saw you. You have no idea how many times I had to stop myself.” A strange fluttering feeling takes up the space where her stomach usually sits. Byleth feels almost faint like she might float away, if not for his arms around her. For a moment, they stare at one another, their eyes scanning over every beloved feature, memorizing and remembering in the same sweep.

“I was starting to think that I would never see you again,” she admits into the fragile space between them. Dimitri swallows and the look on his face is all too understanding.

"I moved here on a whim,” he says, suddenly. “I thought it was a midlife crisis, but I think I was looking for something… for you. And now you are here in front of me, just like I wished.” Byleth kisses him again, feels like she wants to do nothing but kiss him and make up for all the time that they’ve been apart. Dimitri kisses back, fierce and desperate, before pulling back with a laugh that makes her grin.

“I want to know what you dream about. Who you are, where you came from, what you love, what you hate.” The words that danced out of reach now come pouring out like the deluge of rain. “I want to know you again. Just… _everything_.” The clock in the cathedral tolls the evening hour, bringing them back to the present moment. “Though if we stay here, we’ll get locked in,” she points out wryly, tangling her hand with his. “Come on.”

“Lead the way,” Dimitri murmurs, his expression buoyant like he can’t quite believe his luck and Byleth, she can’t stop drinking in the sight of it. She tugs at their joined hands and together they descend the tower, each step feeling strangely familiar. The downpour hasn’t let up yet and neither of them has an umbrella, but it feels like a blessing to walk through the rain, hand in hand and getting soaked to the skin. They leave her bike chained up undercover at the monastery and climb into his car so he can drive her home.

“How much do you remember?” She asks with burning curiosity as he pulls out of the monastery parking lot.

“Not much, I’m afraid,” Dimitri says with a rueful smile.

“I only started remembering once I moved here,” she reassures him. “All our friends are here and, well, we’ve been waiting for you.”

“I’m sorry I took so long. Believe me, I came here as soon as I could,” he replies regretfully. Byleth shakes her head and the tears at the corner of her eyes are happy tears, for once.

“You’re here now. That’s all that matters.” At the traffic light, he reaches over to bring her fingertips to his mouth in a brief kiss, an answer all in itself.

When Dimitri parks outside her house, he stops a moment, looks down at his hands, and says, hesitantly, “If it’s not too much to ask, I would rather not be away from you.” Byleth takes his hand and squeezes it because, Goddess, _she knows_.

“Come in. I’ll make the tea, just like old times.” He follows her into her cottage and it feels so right to have Dimitri there, filling up the room, a shy expression on his face despite it all. Dimitri dries himself with a towel while Byleth heats the water and when the tea is steeped and ready, they sit down together on the couch. The conversation comes easily between them and they spend the time sharing stories and cataloguing all the ways they are different and the same.

“How do you take your coffee?” Byleth asks.

“Black, no sugar,” Dimitri responds.

“Favourite colour?”

“I thought it was moss green, but now I know it’s the exact shade of your eyes,” he says with a blush.

Byleth looks at Dimitri sitting across from her — his broads hands curled around a mug of tea and steam curling in his very blue eyes — and feels so in love with him. They talk and talk until they run out of words and, when the silence settles over them comfortable and welcoming, they speak with touch instead. It is a conversation and a remembering of its own significance. Byleth presses a kiss to his right eye, his left shoulder, the space behind his right shoulder blade. She discovers that she can remember every scar he used to bear, and there used to be so many. She wonders how many times she must have traced them in her past life to know them by heart in a strange muscle memory. And when he covers her, she remembers _this_ , too, being made and unmade in the same moment, their breaths and bodies twined, more one being than separate.

The morning dawns clear and bright after the rain from the night before and it’s the most beautiful morning to have ever existed because when she wakes Dimitri is still there with her, his blonde hair tousled and his expression peaceful from sleep. Soon he’ll wake and they will continue what yesterday began. Byleth snuggles closer, smiles when his arms immediately wrap around her and his lips press a sleepy kiss to her hair. She closes her eyes again, in no rush to wake him; they have time once more.

-

Dimitri slots into the group like he's always been there.

Seteth and Flayn treat him like family from the get-go, and he joins their Sunday dinners. Manuela threatens bodily harm if Dimitri breaks Byleth’s heart; he admits to Byleth later that he remembers in chilling detail having this conversation in his past life before. He also joins Operation: Get Seteth and Manuela to Admit Feelings and something he says to Seteth must stick because it’s not long after that Byleth catches her two oblivious friends sharing a secret kiss over washing the dishes one night. Of course, she wastes no time telling Flayn as soon as she gets the chance.

Mercedes scolds Dimitri when he misses meals and keeps asking him to taste-test for her; he always says yes, though he never has a bad word to say about her food. He and Byleth try to follow one of her baking videos one rainy weekend and even manage to make something decent despite many, many mistakes.

Annette tells him about her thesis and though the explanation is so specific and full of jargon, Dimitri listens and patiently asks questions so he can better understand it. And then he does the same, tells her about his work which is also very specific and full of jargon, but she’s curious and demands details because learning is a love they both share.

Felix keeps challenging him to every game he can think of: darts, foosball, basketball. Dimitri never refuses — he's actually rather competitive about it — and Byleth likes it, if only so she can see that look of concentration on his face. And Sylvain is always there, too, egging them on and always finding reasons to be close enough to sling an arm around Dimitri’s shoulders, to hug him hello and goodbye, like he has a lifetime worth of affection stored and he’s determined to catch up. That and teasing him about his stick-in-the-mud ways, because that hasn’t changed much in this life.

Dimitri and Ingrid start working out together because he’s the only one who can keep up with her _ridiculous_ exercise schedule, to the appreciation of everyone at the local gym. It becomes routine for them to go on long runs together on Sunday morning, then stop at the cafe afterwards, where Dimitri drinks his black coffee with no sugar and Ingrid orders enough pastries to fuel her very active lifestyle. Byleth just meets them there for the coffee, preferring to wait with a good book instead.

Dedue and Dimitri reconnect with the quiet understanding of old friends, and it fills Byleth with happiness to see them together again. All three of them spend many afternoons working in her garden during the summer, but it’s so worth it when at last they can sit down and enjoy the fruits of their labour together in a delicious meal. Ashe is often there, too, keeps calling Dimitri _Your Highness_ without thinking, which makes them both blush every time. They have a lot of similar interests in this life, historical books and films in particular, and Byleth loves hearing them discuss the merits of this adaptation over that over dinner.

And, of course, there’s Dimitri and Byleth. Dimitri stops renting and moves into Byleth’s little cottage as soon as he’s able, and just like that it becomes _home_ for them. Everything they do, they do together: cooking, cleaning, renovating the old parts of the house. They argue about what television shows to watch, over whose turn it is to take out the trash, about whether they should get a cat or a dog (or both). Neither of them knows how to ride horses, but they do go for long bike rides when the weather is good, gliding through the winding countryside below Garreg Mach to discover all the beauty of it with new eyes again. Their lives blend together once more, as easily and naturally as breathing, and they remain this way for the rest of the days — as friends, lovers, and everything in between, their hands forever tangled together, no further apart than that.

**Author's Note:**

> Always love to hear what you think, kudos and comments are ♥ .
> 
> Twitter: [redmorningstar1](https://twitter.com/redmorningstar1)


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